musings of a sometimes cranky yogi

Tag Archives: breaking up

It had snowed and I couldn’t get my foot into my boot because of the fucking leg corset.

Boots

That’s how yesterday started. It finished with a $2,025 puncture in each hip and chakra workshop. Just a regular Friday.

You would think if I was going to pay someone over $4,000, pull my pants down, and let them take pictures and a video I would have walked away with something rather exciting and completely unsuitable for this family-friendly blog. I’m not completely ruling out such experiences, but that’s another post.

Snow

Yep, snow.

So. Yesterday was approximately 4years in the making. It started with our hero as a fearless badass yoga teacher, it involved:

The story is not over, but our hero through it all remained a Badass yoga teacher and also managed to complete a 500Hour Yoga Teacher Training, a Personal Training Certification, a Life Coaching Certification, a Trauma-Informed Yoga Training, Mother Fucking Firewalked with Tony Robbins, started teaching in Cook County Jail (occasionally on crutches with aforementioned fucking leg corset), got sacked 1.5 times, hired 10+ times, broke up 5x, got back together 4x, and continues to have fabulous adventures and hang with a bodacious bunch of Badasses.

Wings

This kid

Bones, for the win

Fancy clothes

These students

Actually teaching

Sidekick

I got this

THESE students

The Jail

F@cking Leg Corset

There’s more, so much more, so you’ll have to stay tuned if you want to hear about the Mustang Convertible in Arizona, Osteostrong, Several Sets of Wings, Art, Truffle fries and Hamilton.

Fetal position, rocking back and forth muttering things to the dog – am certain no will ever love me, that my hair will never behave respectably, that my feet are just plain ugly and I should just give up now and become a cat lady

Cool. I’m, like totally cool. No, actually I’m so important and so busy with all my important busy life things that I have no time to do anything buy my very important things that really just take up all of my time. Lord I just have no time to be worried about such trivial things! Am important, very busy person, anybody can see that, also I like wearing my pants inside out.

Fuck it. Fuck absolutely all of it. Fuck all of it somuch that I’m going to sit here and eat ice cream – NOT low fat or froyo, but FULL fat Ben and Fucking Jerry’s ice cream, AND I’m going to eat it straight from the container sitting on the couch at 11pm, because I can, okay??? Am so damn happy that no man will ever see me naked again that I’m gonna sit here and my godamm ice cream, okay?

Obsessively checking WhatsApp to see who’s online and when. Not because I care, I just happened to pick up my phone. Am totally in control here, and do not care when anyone is on line and not sending me messages. Do not care even a tiny bit. Absolutely did not just check my messages just now.

Hang out with hot 30somethings. Decide right after gorgeous blonde in short shorts says, hey you’re my mom’s age, you look good and that’s what’s really important that I need to hang with my 50something friends maybe a little more.

Make empowered decision to go see all Marvel/Xmen/Star Trek movies by myself, because dammit I am an empowered and free woman who needs no man to go to movies with. Also I can eat all the damn popcorn myself.

Buy a parrot, because… because honestly I’ve got nothing here, but I did buy a parrot who is learning to dance and sing to Brittany Spear’s Work Bitch, so that’s pretty entertaining.

Revisit the ‘Empowered/Fetal/Fuck All of Things’ Cycle for a few more rounds.

Journal, Meditate just like Mastin Kipp says I’m suppose to, because you know he’s a 30something who is apparently enlightened, or at least has a book and a blog and sends messages on YouTube from Maui on how to cope with heartbreak. (aside – he would likely frown benevolently on a few of my other coping mechanisms)

Fail spectacularly and not being petty and bitter. Journal about greater than average pettiness and bitterness. Meditate on super charged petty bitter non enlightened behavior that would disappoint Mastin.

Wonder if I should share any of this with my therapist, but then worry she will think less of me, then wonder if maybe I am not approaching this correctly. Decide I’m fine, and will tell my therapist so.

Fuck all the thoughts about what to do on your birthday. Will pretend to ignore the damn thing this year, and secretly stuff face with cupcakes and Ben and Jerry’s.

Re-examine feet. Decide they are the ugliest feet that have ever existed. Wear open toed sandals anyway, because Fuck it, no one will ever see me naked again, so why worry about ugly feet. Right moving on.

Wonder why you have to write all this shite only after midnight, and not in the morning like normal writers.

Debate major hair cut vs finally embracing dreads. Buy more hair product because bank account still had a few dollars in it. Decide that stress increases frizz, and hair products with cool smelling ingredients will decrease stress.

Write self depreciating blog, spends hours writing and rewriting it, finding pictures and clever gifs and memes instead of sleeping, because sleep is for wimps and people who have to have passable hair, pretty toes, and who don’t eat Ben and Jerry’s at midnight, who don’t need to sing Carrie Underwood in the car.